Star Raider Page 4

  Thinking about losing Dark Star after all this time caused an inner rage to ignite. No one was going to sell his raider. He’d turn outlaw before that happened. But turning outlaw…would go against Consul Maximus’s orders.

  Tanner squeezed his eyelids shut before opening them wide. He needed sleep more than he needed food just now. His judgment was slipping.

  “Hey!” a man shouted from behind.

  Tanner’s back twitched. It felt as if someone aimed a gun at him. He lengthened his stride, passing people.

  “Stop, you!” the man shouted.

  With a snarl, Tanner broke into a sprint.

  A woman walking ahead of him looked back, seeing him charge toward her. She screamed, throwing herself out of his way.

  That caused even more people to turn and stare.

  Tanner ignored them as he sprinted for the archway into the bazaar. Shoppers under the brighter bazaar lights turned and stared. Many shrank from him as if he had a fatal, poverty-creating disease. The sprint and the stares seemed to shed the years from Tanner, to slough off the space service training that had helped transform a street ruffian into a space-strike legionnaire. In his mind, he reverted to the street punk that had survived many vicious incidents. He realized then that monitors would be watching him on cameras.

  He passed under the arch, swung around a portly gentleman and slowed as he entered a shoe store. He had to act natural.

  Several people inside the store looked up. One man noticed that those outside stared at Tanner. The man backed away from him.

  Tanner realized he had seconds to change the situation. He hurried down an aisle and switched to another row. He was counting on regular Calisto Grandee etiquette as learned these past weeks: that it was best not to get involved with trouble.

  No one in the shop had screamed or shouted yet, although several people rushed outside.

  Changing rows once more, Tanner worked his way to the back. The aisles of display shoes blocked this area from the storefront. A clerk carrying several boxes headed toward him.

  “Excuse me,” Tanner said, forcing a smile.

  The clerk looked up and raised his eyebrows. Did he notice how scruffy Tanner’s clothes were?

  “Is the manager here?” Tanner asked.

  “I’m the manager.”

  “Right,” Tanner said. “There’s a problem.”

  The man focused on Tanner, and suspiciously asked, “What problem?”

  Tanner took the shoeboxes, setting them on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” the clerk asked, his voice rising.

  “I need you to open the back door.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m undercover,” Tanner said. He sensed the clerk needed greater persuasion. “The capture of the forger is worth a large reward. Due to your assistance, the shop will receive twenty percent of the arrest bonus.”

  The clerk tried to look to the front of the store and the sounds of commotion. Tanner didn’t give him the opportunity, as he grabbed the clerk’s elbow and swiveled him toward the rear door.

  “Prompt action is critical,” Tanner said. “We’ve been working on the case for weeks. I don’t want to blow it now.”

  “But…what are you trying to do?” the clerk asked, as he dug a key out of a pants pocket. “What does my store have to do with a forger?”

  “You’re in the clear, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve learned that much from surveillance. My boss doesn’t agree with me, though.”

  “Your boss?” the man asked. That wasn’t the way someone on Calisto Grandee would say it. The man had already inserted the key into the lock, but now looked up. Maybe he noticed the fatigue in Tanner’s features. Maybe he realized that no one on Calisto Grandee looked anything like this dangerous vagrant.

  Like a junkyard dog, Tanner sensed the change. “Do you want to live?” he asked.

  The clerk’s eyes widened with fear. He turned the key so the lock clicked open.

  “Good,” Tanner said. He tightened his grip on the elbow so the man squirmed.

  “Please,” the clerk whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Tanner shoved him into the storeroom and removed the key.

  “I never did anything to you,” the clerk whimpered.

  “Where’s the exit?” Tanner demanded, pocketing the key.

  “Over there,” the clerk said, pointing shakily into the gloom.

  Tanner debated knocking him out. Otherwise, the clerk would run to the police the moment he left.

  “Please,” the clerk whimpered. “I’ve done what you asked.”

  That was a righteous point. Tanner pressed the key into the clerk’s palm. He didn’t want a judge saying later that he’d stolen anything.

  “If I get away,” Tanner said, “I don’t have a reason to hunt you down later for ratting me out.”

  The clerk nodded fast.

  Tanner bolted, striding into the gloom. He was sure cameras watched him. A glance around didn’t show him any surveillance devices, but that didn’t mean anything.

  He kept walking, taking turns, hurrying down stairs, avoiding exits. He noticed it was cooler here. That meant something. Did the vagrancy squad patrol this area of the gigahab?

  He took another flight of stairs, walked along an endless corridor and finally realized he didn’t hear any sounds of pursuit. Had that been the vagrancy squad he’d seen on the promenade deck earlier or someone else?

  Tanner rubbed his aching forehead. He’d lost the adrenaline rush. He slowed his step and then stopped. He realized it was darker here. Was this an abandoned area? No. He doubted that because…

  He started with a jerk, blinking rapidly, realizing he’d almost keeled over. He was close to passing out.

  After several more steps, Tanner’s knees buckled. His back slid down the wall until he thudded onto his butt. That should have jarred him awake. Instead, it was the end of his sixty-two hour ordeal. Like an old, axed tree from a forest back home, Tanner fell sideways. His left shoulder struck the floor and the side of his head thudded next. His eyes opened and then fluttered closed.

  For a moment, possibly longer, he knew blissful sleep. His aching body absorbed the healing process. His normally sharp senses failed to alert him of three approaching strangers. Not even a bright light shining in his face woke him up.

  “That him?” the biggest of the three asked.

  A woman wearing a silver jacket with an illegal coilgun holstered under her armpit checked a cellphone. It had Tanner’s face on it.

  “That’s him,” she said. “Wake him.”

  “Be my pleasure,” the big man said, who drew back his right foot before driving a steel-toed shoe into Tanner’s stomach.

  -6-

  Gasping from the kick, with his stomach still throbbing with pain, Tanner let them haul him down the dim corridor. The biggest bruiser gripped his right arm. That one was a head taller than him and had to outweigh him by eighty pounds. The man was built like a square slab and likely was either from a heavy gravity planet or took muscle enhancers.

  Tanner sensed that the man toyed with him, would love nothing better than if he would resist. The bruiser was bald with a flat nose and cauliflower ears. He must be a wrestler or some other kind of exhibition fighter. What he wasn’t was a Tong assassin or a Coalition Special Intelligence operative. Tanner would have recognized either.

  The thug holding his left arm had garlic breath. As they’d hauled him off the floor, Tanner had noticed the man’s belt buckle, a heavy piece of iron. No doubt, it seconded as a flail-type weapon.

  The woman led the way. She was small and slim, a dancer possibly or a professional thief. She had shined a light in his eyes, grinning at him as he coughed and gasped for air. She’d thrust her fingers through his hair and jerked up his head.

  “Tanner,” she’d said. That was all except for an eloquent sneer.

  Baldy and Garlic Breath marched him down the long corridor. Dancer shined her light on the floor. By
their slow rate of advance, Tanner guessed she was looking for something.

  The few minutes of unconsciousness had done nothing to wipe the ache from Tanner’s eyes. It had felt good to close them, though. The kick had swept a few cobwebs from his brain. As his stomach stopped throbbing, Tanner began analyzing the situation.

  These three did not belong to the CGPD Vagrancy Squad. Cops would have informed him of his crime by now. Thus, these three were not cops. He doubted they were bazaar security, either.

  Think, Tanner. Use your gray cells before it’s too late.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

  That caused Baldy to tighten his grip.

  Tanner ignored the man. Had he ever seen these three before?

  Suddenly, it dawned on him that these were the people he’d seen back on the promenade deck. He remembered Baldy’s shiny dome and the man’s obvious density. It had led him to believe the bruiser had been an undercover vagrancy cop.

  I guessed wrong.

  Tanner opened his eyes, glancing at Baldy.

  The man had coarse skin and grinned, exposing heavy teeth. The look asked him to try something so Baldy could have some more fun. Tanner realized the bruiser must have been the one to kick him. He owed the man a beating for that.

  Baldy’s fingers tightened on his arm and the grin became sinister. The bruiser liked to inflict pain. Tanner had known thugs like that in Vesuvius.

  Tanner looked down.

  “That’s right,” the bruiser whispered. “Look away, pansy boy.”

  The woman turned back, raising an eyebrow.

  “The flyboy and me are getting to know each other,” Baldy told her.

  The woman eyed Tanner. He felt her scrutiny. She swiveled around all the way, walking backward.

  “You ever going to ask us what’s going on?” she said.

  Tanner didn’t reply. He knew what was going on. Bad people had him. They must be bounty hunters wanting to collect on his price.

  “Or are you too frightened to speak?” she said.

  Tanner kept his head down. Bluster couldn’t help him now. He was exhausted, hungry and outnumbered. They didn’t want him dead or the bruiser would have already broken his neck. Would the Coalition pay for his corpse? He believed so. What did it tell him that these three had taken him alive? Did that mean they wanted to torture him first?

  Tanner considered the implications. Besides the Coalition, a small number of very bad people wanted to make him suffer. The credits needed to keep the Dark Star running had meant he’d gone after some seriously tough hombres. Could these three belong to a criminal lord desiring vengeance against him? If so, that meant letting them take him to the secondary scene of the crime was stupid. He had to stop that from happening, but would have to choose his moment with care. Thus, if the woman wished to believe he was too frightened of them to speak, so much the better.

  “Bah!” the woman said. “The mighty bounty hunter is highly overrated, I see. Without your gun and crew, you’re a frightened punk. It’s just what I thought.”

  He was right about these three belonging to a crime lord. He should have stayed in the public areas. Tanner almost groaned aloud as a realization struck. They had flushed him. They had wanted him to run down here. He had acted like prey without realizing someone other than the vagrancy squad was after him.

  This was much worse than having Calisto Grandee cops grab him.

  Tanner stilled his sudden impulse to resist. The men had him. Stomping on a foot likely wasn’t going to work against Baldy. And if he didn’t take out the bruiser right away, the fight would go against him fast. Maybe if he’d been well rested and in top condition—

  The woman had spun forward again, shining her light on the floor, searching. “Stop,” she said.

  Tanner focused on the lit spot. There was a rung embedded in the floor.

  She knelt, took out a small device and clicked it. The rung rose. With a small hand, she grasped the metal ring and heaved. A trapdoor appeared, swinging upward on hidden hinges.

  The woman looked up at Baldy.

  Tanner sensed the man nodding.

  Without a word, she swung her feet into the opening and began climbing down steel rungs. Was this an emergency access hatch?

  Soon, Garlic Breath let go of Tanner. The thug crouched and swung his feet into the opening, standing on rungs and beginning to climb down.

  Tanner had kept himself neutral, waiting for the exact moment. Now! He lashed out with his left foot, stretching, aiming a kick at the man’s head.

  Baldy was alert and yanked Tanner, throwing off his aim and foot velocity. The boot only grazed the side of the thug’s head, but it was enough. Garlic Breath shouted more in surprise than pain and lost his balance so maybe his feet slid off the rungs. He plunged into the opening, screaming.

  The yell dwindled until a thud and a grunt told of Garlic Breath’s likely impact with the woman.

  Baldy snarled, swinging Tanner against the wall. The force knocked the wind out of Tanner, making him gasp like a stranded fish.

  “I’m going to beat you, boy,” Baldy said. He drew back a right, keeping hold of Tanner’s arm with his left.

  Tanner stomped with everything he had left—using his heel to smash the top of Baldy’s left foot. It made the bruiser grunt, and loosened his grip a bit. It didn’t stop the pile-driving right, though. Tanner dodged his head just enough to make it a glancing blow. His right ear flared intensely, and the force of the hit was enough to knock him free of the gripping hand.

  Tanner maintained his balance, but he knew he would never beat Baldy down here, maybe never one-on-one on his best day. He wasn’t going to outrun the bruiser, either. That left just one option.

  Tanner took it. He jumped down the dark opening.

  Baldy must have been expecting that. The bruiser was faster than he looked, too. A square, dense man like him should have moved like a glacier. Instead, he had cobra-like reflexes.

  Big fingers latched onto the collar of Tanner’s leather coat. That yanked Tanner hard, the jacket jerking up against his armpits. He dangled in midair for a fraction of a second. Then, he fell again, the bruiser’s hand and arm going with him. Tanner jerked short once more. Baldy grunted just above him. The bruiser must have slammed his chest against the floor with his right arm thrust into the opening.

  Tanner began sliding downward with Baldy hanging onto the collar. Then it all happened fast even though it seemed like slow motion. Tanner plunged feet-first with the bruiser coming after him headfirst.

  Tanner had no idea how far the shaft went. He smashed against the sides as he fell, hitting a steel ladder some of the time. Despite his wretched condition, his training kicked in. He tried to relax, bent his knees and focused on Baldy. The bruiser was a stubborn bastard and refused to let go. Tanner realized that was good. The arm let him know where the man’s central mass was. When he hit the floor, Tanner wanted to make sure Baldy didn’t land on top of him, but beside him, hopefully, breaking his squat neck.

  Maybe Baldy understood that. The bruiser released him. A roar of noise just above Tanner’s head told him Baldy went for it. Something happened, because the dense body slammed against the sides.

  Had Baldy snatched a steel rung, swinging his body so now his feet aimed down? Tanner no longer sensed the bruiser just above him.

  A harsh surprise ended those thoughts as Tanner hit the floor. Bones snapped as he slammed to a halt.

  Suppressing a groan, Tanner instinctively crawled. The floor shifted under him and he realized that wasn’t the floor but a body, two bodies. Garlic Breath must have knocked out the small woman. They lay below him. What had his impact just now done to them? Whose bones had broken a second ago?

  “Lacy?” the bruiser shouted. “Say something.”

  Tanner was dazed, confused, hurt and determined to stay alive. He had to rescue his friends. He had to get the raider back. He had to free Remus and make the Coalition pay.

  His left ankl
e throbbed. He had no idea if he could stand or not. He tried to rummage for a weapon, finally sliding the man’s belt with its heavy buckle.

  “I hear you, Tanner,” the bruiser said from several meters up. “If Lacy is dead, I’m going to kill you.”

  Tanner made a split-second decision. He heaved forward into a passageway, slithering fast. He needed to put distance between them and him.

  Baldy landed hard on the floor and shouted angrily a second later. “Tanner!” he roared.

  Tanner was on his hands and knees, crawling like mad. He saw a dim light in the distance. A moment later, brighter light illuminated him. A glance back showed him someone holding the woman’s flashlight.

  “Gotcha, Tanner,” Baldy growled.

  Heavy footfalls struck the floor and the light began nearing.

  Tanner climbed to his feet. He groaned as he put weight on his left foot. It hurt badly, but it held. He began running.

  “You lousy bastard, you ain’t getting away from me.”

  Tanner’s lips peeled back. He could damn well make a go of it. He would need room to swing the belt like a morning star. This passageway was cramped, barely high enough for him to stand. Every so often, his shoulders brushed against the walls.

  The bruiser breathed hard. The squat giant was gaining on him.

  As Tanner ran, he wrapped the belt around his right hand. He positioned the buckle so it would act like a pair of brass knuckles. He’d used those before on the street. As a punk kid, he’d been used to being outnumbered and outmuscled, but not outthought or outfought. His elite, space-strike training had taught him the best dirty fighting techniques.

  He panted and his sides ached. He wasn’t going to last much longer. A glance back showed that Baldy had almost reached him. Madness gleamed in those red-rimmed eyes. The bruiser wanted to kill him. This would be a lousy place to die.